London Calling
by gesika-is-rad
Summary: Troy's basketball Career is over. He moves to England to start over. There he meets American-born stage actor Ryan. See how their relationship develops. Rating will go up as more chapters are added.
1. Chapter 1

It was late. The plain flew almost silently through the milky black sky, slowly making it's way over the Atlantic. There were no clouds, leaving the moon to illuminate the vast chasm of nothing. The interior of the plain was almost as silent. Most of the passengers were asleep, blankets pulled up and sleep masks on. Those unable to sleep were watching a movie or quietly reeding, loathe to disrupt the tranquility. Every so often an air steward would walk up and down the aisle, checking on passengers. They'd move a bag out of the aisle, or shut off a light over a reader who had dozed off then return to their cubby-hole in the back of the plain. Soon they'd be preparing breakfast.

Troy sat about halfway down the passenger seats. He was wide awake, unable to sleep on the plain. For the last few hours he'd had his tv tuned to the global map tracking the progress of the flight. Tracking the flight was a sweet torture of sorts. He was anxious for the plain to land, but at the same time he was a bit petrified by the prospect.

He'd never been to England. His decision to go had been literally life altering. He was leaving school, his parents, and all of his friends. He was traveling further than he'd ever gone before, and he was going alone.

He tore his eyes from the tv screen and lifted his window shade. Staring out at the night he thought on the last seven months. They'd been the hardest seven months of his life. In one fell swoop he'd lost his career, his close relationship with his father, his girlfriend, and his best friend. And they were all related.

A torn ligament in his knee had ended his career. It was the 4th quarter of a pre-season match-up

against a division 2 team. Troy played center for Syracuse, on of the top teams in the nation. They would use smaller schools to warm up for the "real" season. Most of the division 1 teams practiced this method. It's a way to work out all the kinks and get the team at their top playing level.

It was the 2nd half of the game when Troy went up for a rebound. He caught the ball, but on his way down stepped on an opponent's foot. He rolled his ankle and tore a ligament in his knee, As the star player, he was rushed to the hospital where they wrapped his ankle and did x-rays on his knee. It was over. Not just that season, but his whole career. He'd never play competitive basketball again.

He spent the next few months healing, not just doing his rehabilitation exercises to get back his mobility, but also coming to terms with his uncertain future. The first few days were hell mentally. Not only did he have to deal with his own anguish over losing his dream, but that of his father and girlfriend, each taking it harder than Troy expected.

His father was the only reason Troy even picked up a ball all those years ago. Jack Bolton had been a passable cager, even played at the college level. But his skill had not taken him all the way to the pros. Instead he settled for coaching the varsity team at his old alma mater. When Troy had been born he'd seen it as his chance at redemption. If he hadn't made it big, then by god his son was going to.

And it looked like his plan was coming to fruition. Troy'd been the star on his high school team, setting scoring and assist record. By the time his senior year rolled around he'd been the top pick for a number of schools. There'd been scouts at his games, calls made to his counselor, and promises of a bright and shining future. After a lot of thought and discussion, he'd settled on Syracuse. He quickly rose to the top there, and had professional scouts looking at him. It was senior year all over again, but this time he was a sophomore in college. He eventually signed with the Los Angeles Lakers, but wanted to finish school first. The was his contract was set up, he'd graduate from school with a degree, then he'd join the team.

It was all planned. The next three years of his life were planned out to the most minute detail. And his father was ecstatic. Then it all fell down around his knees and he was left floundering. Once again his dream of professional basketball had been ruined. He was lost.

He spent the first few days in shock not talking, even to his beaten down son, He locked himself up in his den and drank himself into a stupor. He emerged with a whole new playbook for the upcoming season, but not a single word of encouragement for his son. He didn't know how to console him, so he ignored the problem. Their relationship was still a bit stilted to this day.

As for Rachel, Troy's girlfriend, well...She wanted to be a baller's wife. When that dream left, so did she. She walked right into the arms of Troy's best friend, Shane. Only she didn't have the balls to actually break up with him. She cheated for three months before he caught them. When he asked her why she just laughed and said that Troy could no longer provided the life-style she deserved. She was looking for someone who could.

Her betrayal hurt, only to be compounded by the fact that it was his best friend who had also betrayed him. He quickly wrote them both out of his life. But they left giant gaping holes in his life. He had yet to fill them. Instead he'd focused on getting better and moving on with his future.

Luckily he was a pretty good student. In fact, not only had he been his high school's basketball God, but he'd been salutatorian as well. No one really took notice of that, but Troy was well aware of his academic prowess. He'd kept up his studious habits at Syracuse. He'd done so well, that he was actually able to transfer almost all of his credits.

He'd applied to Oxford University on a whim. Didn't really think he'd get in. But five weeks after he sent off his completed application he got an acceptance letter. He viewed it more as a ticket out. A chance to get away from all the destruction his bum knee had caused. A chance to discover who the new basketball-less Troy was.

The breaking dawn brought Troy out of his musings. The sun was rising over the horizon. Troy subconsciously rubbed his knee as he took in the breath taking sight. The sky was ablaze with red and orange and yellow. As he turned to take his breakfast tray from the stewardess, he decided that it was a good omen. A beautiful was to start the rest of his life. He suddenly couldn't wait to land.


	2. Chapter 2

London was amazingly overwhelming. Troy had been on solid ground for little more than 2 hours and his head was already spinning.

His flight had landed just past 9AM. He knew he didn't need to report to Oxford until Monday morning, so he decided to find a hostel to stay for the weekend. His travel guide suggested one called Generator. It said it was geared toward backpackers around his age and was relatively inexpensive.

Not wanting to seem inexperienced, he decided not to ask for directions and try to figure out the "London Tube" all by himself. Like the big boy he was.

Before he'd left, his mother had given him a traveler's guide of London. Inside was a full map of the underground system. It was a strange grid of criss crossing colors and unfamiliar words. At first glance he found the whole thing to be terrifying. How could he possibly figure this out? He took a few calming breaths and then started deciphering the chaos.

As best as he could determine, the hostel was closest to the Euston Square station. And the only way he could see to get to the Euston Square station was from the King's Cross Station. And the only way to get to the King's Cross station from Heathrow Itn'l Airport was by train. So he needed a train ticket. And to get a train ticket he needed to exchange his money. To the exchange kiosk it was.

The money exchange was a bit depressing. He'd had a good amount of money when he left the states, but now it was cut almost in half. He hoped he'd have enough to make it through the weekend. It would probably be pretty close. Once he got to Oxford and received his international bank card he'd been fine, but until then all he had was the cash in his pocket.

From the currency exchange desk he went to find a train ticket. After a few minutes of aimless walking he stumbled upon the ticket window. He told the woman where he wanted to go and was told that if he waited an hour for rush hour to be over his ticket would be noticeably cheaper. Not thinking twice he purchased a ticket for the 10:15 train to the King's Cross Station.

He'd spent his hour long wait in the airport people watching. It was a subconscious hobby of his that helped pass the time quite quickly.

There was the family seemingly returning from somewhere. Apparently the teenage daughter was not happy and called her father a "slag." Troy didn't know exactly what a slag was, but knew from the tone of her voice and the reprimand she received from her mother that it wasn't a compliment.

Then there was the Indian family in all of their colorful regalia. They were barking orders to each other left and right with no one seeming to follow any of them. They were a rather harried bunch and Troy was grateful to not be involved.

Next came a group of young men, all of whom were sporting Barcelona gear. Troy assumed they were soccer fanatics. They were loud and boisterous, all in a good mood. Troy assumed they were on their way to or from a game. It reminded him a bit of high school and the game day pep rallies he'd had a part in.

Before Troy knew it, his wait was up and it was time to board his train. He grabbed his bag and made his way to the platform. Figuring out which end of the train to actually get on took just a moment and before he knew it he was ready for departure. The train itself offered more chances to watch and try to learn. Much of the lingo flowing around him was new and Troy strove to comprehend.

The thing that stuck out most to Troy, even more than the vernacular, was the intonation everyone used. It was a lilting and kinda melodious sound. Of course he'd heard a British accent before, but to be completely surrounded by it was a bit surreal. It kinda brought home the fact that Troy was in a different country. Made him realize just how real this experience was.

The trip to the Euston Square station lasted about 45 minutes. Nervous about missing his stop, Troy had spent the last few minutes staring out the window trying to see the names of the stops. He had a firm grip on his luggage and was ready to literally run off the train. He knew that should the doors slide closed before he could get off he'd be completely lost. Even armed with his map of the tube he didn't want to risk anything.

Despite his nerves, Troy safely made it off the train and onto the platform. Once on the platform he had to stop and gather himself. Everywhere he looked there were sure-footed people racing around. They all knew exactly where they were going; they probably did this everyday and Troy found it all just a little intimidating.

Finding a relatively quiet spot at the end of the platform, Troy pulled out his map. The King's Cross station was one of the main stations. It was an interchange point for three separate train lines. He needed to get on the Metropolitan line to get to Euston Square. Easy enough.

Luckily for Troy the underground was full of directional signs pointing uncertain travelers in the

right direction. Troy followed the signs up stairs, then back downstairs, around numerous corners and passed many a street performer. It was all a bit exhausting. Finally he found the platform for the Metropolitan line. He was a bit early for the train, so he took the moment to rest.

Soon enough the platform began to shake. The sound of a fast approaching train could be heard from the tunnel to Troy's right. People began moving up to the yellow line, craning their necks for a peak at the train. In a matter of moments it arrived, open its doors, took on it's passengers, closed it's doors, and sped off leaving Troy in a sate of shock. It had all happened so fast that he hadn't even moved. He'd missed the train. Now he had to wait for the next one.

After just a few minutes, another train could be heard approaching. This time Troy was prepared. He stepped up to the yellow line trying not to jostle anyone. The train pulled to a stop with a door almost directly in front of Troy, and he was easily able to haul his luggage on and find a seat.

Ready to be done with the whole underground tube thing Troy kept his eyes pealed for the Euston Square stop. Luckily it was the first one. As the train slowed to a stop Troy was once again more than ready to get off. And with no problem at all he was off the train ready to get the hell out of the underground.

The trip back to the street level was once again long and winding. There were stairs and people and an escalator that had to have gone up 3 or 4 stories. After a good twenty minutes, Troy could finally see day light. Once outside, he stopped to catch his breath and steady himself. The last hour of his life had been nerve wracking and insane. He was glad to be done with. And deciding to swallow his pride he took a cab the the hostel.

An hour later Troy was safely tucked into his bunk in the hostel sleeping off his first day in London. He'd planned on doing a little sightseeing and grabbing a bite to eat, but jet-lag combined with the stress of the underground knocked him out. He didn't even have time to greet his dorm mates before passing out. The last thought to cross his mind was, "Well I guess I'm officially in London."

He fell asleep smiling.

*This chapter is based entirely on my first day in London. It was completely terrifying and by the time I got to the hostel all I could do was sleep. Although, we didn't take a cab. Oh no. We hauled our luggage around for a good 3 hours looking for the Generator. It was hellacious.

Hopefully things will pick up in the next chapter. I'm posting as I write and don't really know where the story is going. I have a feeling it will ALL be based on my personal experiences.

Thanks for reading,

-Gesika


	3. Chapter 3

Ryan was tired. It'd been a bloody long day, but now it was over. Time to relax.

Tossing his bag over his shoulder, he made his way out of the theater. Digging his ipod out of the front pocket of his rehearsal bag, he wove his way through the throng of dancers in the tight quarters backstage. He put it on shuffle and wedged the earbuds into his ears. Humming along with David Bowie, he pushed open the stage door that lead to the back alley and heaved a huge sigh of relief. Daylight. Finally.

He'd been in the theater since about 8 o'clock this morning and it was now edging in on 4 pm. The company was starting a new production and there were long hours to put in. Hours of music and memorization and choreography. Lots of long, hard, draining hours. Just the thought of what the next few months would be like made Ryan's legs ache.

If he'd known that this is what the life of a London stage actor entailed, he might have just stayed at Juliard. Well, that's not entirely true. He knew that. He knew that this was the life he was meant to lead and he loved every second of it. As much as he complained to his mother and sister on the phone, he loved being on the stage. And if hard work is what it took to get him there, and subsequently keep him there, then he was ready for it.

Being a stage actor had been his dream for as long as he could remember. There had never been a time when he didn't want to act and sing and dance. This was it for him. Even if he never became a huge star, with his name in lights and people waiting after shows for his autograph.

Deciding to take a the long way home, Ryan walked passed the Euston Street tube entrance and headed toward the park across the street. Walking home would mean getting home about an hour later, but today Ryan just felt like it. Besides, the park was lovely this time of year, why waste it?

Getting home about an hour later, Ryan started up the stairs to his flat. He knew his flatmate, Chad, was home even before he opened the door. And if the music blaring from the flat was any indication, Chad was in a good mood. Good. Maybe Ryan could convince him to go round to the local for dinner and a pint. After the day he'd had, all Ryan wanted was a steak and ale pie and a pint of lager.

Opening the front door, Ryan yelled, "Hey Chad," hoping to be heard over the music.

"Oi Mate! Ya alright?" Chad emerged from his bedroom rubbing a towel over his springy curls.

"Yeah man. You?" Ryan walked through the small living room to his bedroom. He threw his bag on the bed and bent to take off his trainers. Chad came in and sat on his bed.

"Yeah mate. Had a great day. That fit bird from work agreed to go out with me." Chad was also American, but he'd lived in London longer and had picked up more of the lingo than Ryan. But that was partly cause Ryan was holding onto his American traits with an iron grip. Didn't want to lose himself completely to his adopted culture. Plus, keeping his American sayings and whatnot made him unique. He liked it.

"Cool. When you guys going out?" Getting a whiff of himself, Ryan started to undress for a shower.

"Next week. Oi! No getting naked in front of your straight flatmate." Chad had no problem with Ryan's sexuality, but he himself was fully straight.

"Chill. I'm not getting naked. Wanna go round to the local tonight? I need to relax." grabbing a towel Ryan went into the loo, leaving the door cracked so he could still talk to Chad.

"Sure. Rough day at rehearsal?"

"Not really. No more than usual. Just tired." Ryan turned on the shower and stepped in. The water hitting his skin felt amazing.

"Okay. We'll go when you get out, then?"

"Cool." Chad shut the door and Ryan started getting cleaned up. A nice relaxing night at the local pub is exactly what Ryan needed to recuperate from the day. He was looking forward to it.

*Hello again. Sorry this took so long to get up. To be honest, I kinda forgot I'd been writing this. A review I received reminded me, so I'm back. I know this is moving kinda slow, but I wanna set it up right. Things gotta make sense. And I don't want it o be too coincidental, so I'm taking my time to make it seem plausible.

*I know I'm switching back and forth with the vernacular, so if there's anything you don't understand, just let me know. I'll clear it up for ya. As for today's chapter, a "local" is the neighborhood pub that everyone goes to.

*K. Guess that's it. I'll try to get another chapter up in the next few days.

Thanks for reading,

Gesika


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